


The Monster In The Storm

by peacehopeandrats



Series: Rumbelling Shorts [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time), A Monthly Rumbelling March 2020 (Once Upon a Time), Angst, F/M, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Missing Years, Travel, casual nudity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacehopeandrats/pseuds/peacehopeandrats
Summary: Inspired by the March Monthly Rumbelling. The Golds have moved into a new town home and Gideon meets a young girl who convinces him that their fathers are more alike than he could ever have imagined. The problem is, only one of them is the real "monster" and Gideon needs help to see the truth. An eventual chapter of Growing Up.This is complete to a point, but will be expanded on as the next parts of the Growing Up series are worked on. For now, it is only the very beginning, though there WILL be resolution for Gideon's new friend.Please note warnings for implication of domestic violence (NOT related to the Golds) and casual nudity (which IS related to the Golds).
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Series: Rumbelling Shorts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630849
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	The Monster In The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the central images of the Monthly Rumbelling moodboard here: https://a-monthly-rumbelling.tumblr.com/post/612753438048190464/halfway-point 
> 
> I also used both Non-Smut: “Can you keep a secret?” and Smut: “I want to watch.” because I couldn't resist. The fact that I ended up referencing something in all the images was a total accident.

The door to the Golds’ rented town home burst open as the family rushed inside, arms held awkwardly at various angles, water pouring from their faces.

“Well,” Rumple offered with a chuckle. “We _almost_ made it.”

Belle shed her coat and dropped it to the floor with a contented sigh. “Almost,” she parroted back in a tease. There would be a lot of washing up to do tonight, but she didn’t mind. Getting caught in the rain as they explored their new neighborhood had actually been fun, though slipping in the mud and falling into their neighbor’s bush hadn’t been as entertaining. She had leaves, bits of twigs, and some kind of berry juice all through her hair, which she imagined would be a nightmare to sort out. She turned to Rumple and frowned at the sight of him. “Oh Rumple, your new suit…”

He glanced down at the wet, berry-stained sleeves and shrugged casually. “Should have worn my camping gear.” He smiled and kissed her before adding, “I think I’ll survive.” Rumple’s hand lifted to cup her face, his gaze as tangible as the gentle caress. She could almost feel the touch of his eyes on her skin as he checked her for scratches or bruising. “Your hair, on the other hand…”

“Will take a good deal of care, but I don’t think it’s a lost cause,” she huffed back and peered around him to where Gidoen was rapidly stripping off his soaked clothing. Drop everything into the washer,” she told him. “And put on something dry from your room.”

Their son beamed up at her. “All right, Mother. Can I take your things too?”

“Take our coats,” Rumple told him. “We’ll make another pile in the bedroom for you. I think I’ve got to sit your mother down and do something with her hair.”

Gideon dashed away and Rumple gestured for Belle to follow. “Shall I be your husband-in-waiting?” His eyes sparkled with the suggestion of things to come and she felt her cheeks flush.

“With Gideon rushing around the house?”

Rumple bent in front of the window to take stock of what the sky held above them. “The rain is passing quickly,” he told her as he straightened. “And I expect this tangle of yours is going to take some time to work out. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Belle happily shoved her husband toward their small bedroom on the lower floor with a bark of laughter. “You’re insatiable!” Though she poked fun, she had to admit the simple thought of his fingers gently combing through her hair already had her heart pounding with anticipation. She imagined herself settled at the vanity, wrapped in a soft robe as he tended to her, his body pressing against hers now and then as he worked.

“I’m the only one?” He asked the question as he ducked into their bathroom and plucked two robes from the peg on the back of the door. Keeping one for himself, he passed the other through and then began the process of peeling his drenched clothing from his damp body.

Belle shrugged as she did the same, though she turned away from him in hopes that denying him a full view of her exposed flesh would make him as wild with need as he intended to make her. “Well, no,” she admitted as she worked, facing him only when her belt’s robe was loosely tied around her waist. “It _was_ so much easier when he was taking naps.”

Rumple laughed and moved forward, adding his wet clothes to the heap already discarded to the floor. “Think we should try and convince him it’s a necessary part of getting older?”

“I think he’d figure out what we were up to eventually,” Belle told him as she took her place in front of the vanity’s mirror.

“Up to what?” Gideon’s cheerful voice piped in from doorway.

Her eyes went wide as she took in the nude form in the mirror’s reflection. “Didn’t I tell you to put on something warm?”

The boy shrugged. “And you wanted me to pick up the wet clothes. If I got dressed first, I’d be wet again.”

Rumple picked up a comb and poked it in the air toward their son’s image. “The boy has a point. Well thought out, son.”

Gidoen hefted the wet pile in his arms and beamed happily. “Thanks.” He looked at the mirror, then back the way he had come before his eyes settled on his parent’s bathroom. “Can I just drop these in your tub? I want to watch.”

A sputter escaped Belle as her husband’s eyes went wide. “Watch?”

“Fixing mother’s hair,” Gideon explained with a nod at his parents. His confused expression was almost comical. “I want to see if you can untangle it without having to cut anything.”

“Those to the laundry, dry clothes next,” Belle insisted gently. “ _Then_ we’ll see.”

Gideon hurried to dump their things in the with the others, then ran to his own room at the top of the narrow stairs. When the sounds of rushed dressing could be heard in the form of stomping and hopping on the floor above, Rumple let out a sigh. “He’ll never leave our room now, you know.”

“Oh he will,” Belle told him as she grinned into the mirror. “As soon as the sun comes out, I’ll remind him about the neighborhood playground.”

* * *

Gideon winced from his spot on the bed as he watched his father tug at a nasty tangle in his mother’s hair. Working as a team, the two men of the house had managed to get the twigs out, but the knot left behind as a result of their efforts was probably worse than it would have been if they had kept the wooden bits in. He was amazed that his mother didn’t even flinch.

“You know, I used to have longer hair,” his papa told him as he worked. It was an obvious attempt to ease his curiosity. They had been trying to get him out of the room for ten minutes, but Gideon wasn’t about to disappear before the tangle did. “I um… might know one or two things about tangles.”

His mother laughed. “You did have some horrible ones in the morning.”

“Only when you insisted I-” His papa cut the sound short and glanced at Gideon, then gave him a wink. “Sleep on my back so you could fall asleep on me.”

Gideon had entered his parents bedrooms on many a morning and found them in the same position every time. His papa would be stretched on his back with his mother snuggled into his side, her head resting on the man’s shoulder. It was a sight that brought him comfort in a way that he couldn’t at all explain. There was a pure happiness to the scene that always filled him with joy and wonder the moment he caught sight of it, even though he knew exactly what to expect. “Is that why you cut it?” 

“He cut it to try and prove to me that he was a different man,” his mother told him. “It didn’t work.”

Gideon crossed his legs and leaned so far forward that he almost tipped over. “What did?” His parents looked at him with confusion and he shrugged. “You said cutting it didn’t work, so that means something needed to work and it must have worked eventually.”

His father smiled. “You did it, son.”

Gideon blinked. “Me?”

“When you came back into our lives it changed everything for me,” his papa recalled, his eyes growing moist. They always did whenever he talked about the second time Gideon was a baby. “So you are the thing that helped me prove myself to your mum.”

“And to everyone else,” his mother interjected as she reached a hand up to rest on his father’s. It stopped his work and the two adults gazed at each other in the mirror before she let go. They were about to get really boring again.

Gideon hopped off the bed and wandered to the window, suddenly losing all interest in what his papa looked like with long hair and why he hadn’t grown it out again. He peered through the glass, looking first to the sky, then to the ground as he tried to judge his ability to convince his parents that the weather had improved enough for him to explore the playground. “The rain stopped,” he said flatly, not wanting to appear too eager.

“There,” his papa said at almost the same time, stepping back to let his mother run her hands along the top of her head. “I think that’s the last of it.”

“Just in time,” his mother announced, nodding at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “I was starting to get a headache.”

“Better lie down, then,” his father insisted, reaching out a hand to her. His mother took it and let him guide her to the bed, though she did peek out the window before settling down.

“Why don’t you go outside for a little while?” His mother’s suggestion was music to Gideon’s ears.

“Can I?” He spun on his heel and beamed at one parent and then the other, hardly able to believe his luck. Getting them to let him explore on his own had been much easier than he thought it would be. Though to be safe he decided to add his own conditions. “Just to the playground. You can see it from here.”

His papa nodded. “If it looks like rain again, come back.”

“But stay in the living room or go upstairs when you come in,” his mother added quickly. “I’m going to try and nap away this headache.”

Gideon nodded and hurried out as his father offered to get his mother a glass of water. He ignored the rest of their conversation, choosing instead to rush out the door before either of them could change their minds. He dashed down the sidewalk and turned the corner, bolting across the small field of grass that surrounded the area’s only play space in the central courtyard. It was a structure that bordered on being too young for him, but he didn’t really care. He had always been able to make his own fun as long as he was outdoors.

He circled the equipment when he reached it, trying to decide which part he would explore first. There were a few platforms that were clearly for small kids, but a short rope net led up to a tree house with a pole that came down the middle of it and a slide that twisted in a lazy curve to the ground. None of it was terribly high, but he imagined he could work on climbing the net and maybe even figure out how to go _up_ the pole with enough practice.

As he placed his foot on one of the rope squares, he heard a sound from the level above and froze, listening. There was a shuffle that could have been made by an animal, but it was soon followed with a watery sniff and Gideon didn’t know of any animals that cried. Carefully he stepped up once, then again and made a sound in his throat that wasn’t exactly a cough, but would tell whoever was here that they weren’t alone.

“Hello?” He called out softly when the noises went silent. “Is someone here? I don’t mean to bother you. I can go.” Gideon let another pause fill the air before adding, “But I’d be happy to make a friend.”

There was a scraping sound on the planks above before a knee stuck out where he could see it. “You can come up,” said a small voice before the knee pulled back to its hiding place.

Gideon carefully climbed the net and poked his head into the tree house. A girl sat in the corner, her head tipped sideways, cheek resting on the knees that she had pulled to her chest. He gave her a warm smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” The corners of her mouth twitched, but she didn’t move.

“Can I sit with you?” Gideon looked around as if trying to find a place to be. It was mostly for show, something to do to make her feel as if he wasn’t really comfortable either.

The girl nodded and he scrambled up, realizing it was harder to transition from the net to the platform than he thought it would be. His arms and legs seemed to tangle with each other and Gideon figured out too late that once half of his body was above the wooden planks there was nothing for his hands to grab hold of. He ended up toppling forward, catching himself in the last seconds before his nose planted into the brown boards. It was hardly graceful, but at least his clumsy movements made the girl giggle.

“That was hard,” he huffed as he righted himself, hoping the girl would make some comment, but she remained silent, though her eyes did brighten a little at his antics. He studied their surroundings and decided on taking the corner opposite hers, putting the pole between them and giving her some space for herself. “I’m Gideon,” he said once he was finally settled.

“Carlie,” she answered softly. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Gideon shrugged. “We just moved in. We travel a lot.” He watched as she wiped her eyes and scooted closer in worry, letting his legs dangle from the circle cut in the middle of the platform. “Are you okay?”

“Sure.” Carlie’s lips twitched again, but this was a fake smile, a movement meant to hide the truth. “My parents are taking a nap.” Her tone was like ice, sharp and heavy with anger.

“Mine do that all the time,” Gideon told her cheerfully. “Not as much now that I’m older, but they still do it a lot, I guess.” His shoulders rose and fell again as he tried to work out what was so horrible about a simple nap.

“Does your mom get hurt too?”

Surprise washed over Gideon’s face, pulling his eyes wide and his mouth open. “Hurt? From a nap?” The words make Carlie cringe and he reached out to her but she pulled away. “Sorry,” he tried to apologize. “I don’t understand.”

Carlie lifted her head from her knees to peek out the window of their little shelter, then turned back to him. “Can you keep a secret?” Gideon nodded and she took in a big breath, like someone who was about to jump into the water. “My dad _makes_ my mom take her naps,” she confessed with a shiver. “He grabs her and pulls her away from me and they shut the door. I hear her making all these noises…”

Noises at nap time were something Gideon was used to. He had many memories of waking up to giggles or whispers. Sometimes his parents sounded like they did when they came home from a long day of traveling. He could hear someone flop down on the bed and let out a long, happy sigh. They did that a lot, actually, but he never thought of it as something to be worried about.

“When she comes out to make dinner, my mom always moves funny,” Carlie continued. 

Gideon smiled. “My mother does too. It’s like she’s forgotten how to walk for a little while, but she gets better though.” 

“Does she have bruises the next day?”

The question made Gideon dizzy for reasons he couldn’t understand. “Bruises?”

“From your dad hurting her.” Carlie held out her arm and looked at it as if she expected to see something there. “Mine says that’s what naps are for. For little girls to get out of the way so dads can remind moms how good they are at things.” 

The words were so quiet and empty that Gideon had to blink as Carlie spoke to make sure he wasn’t imagining her lips moving. His mind whirled at the thought of his father hurting anyone. He sifted through all of the things his parents had ever said to each other and could only remember one thing that would even suggest that his father were capable of such things. “Sometimes my Papa calls himself a monster.”

Carlie nodded. “That’s what my dad is like. He snarls and spits and roars until I run away. If I stay here long enough I don’t have to hear it.” She curled herself into a ball again as she closed her eyes, then opened them to give him a sad look. “You can stay too, if you want. Until it’s over.”

Unsure of what he should say, Gideon only nodded and whispered out an “okay” as he swallowed down his worries and fear. He reached out a hand to Carlie and she took it, squeezing hard. The two sat in silence for a long time while the breeze blew and birds sang around them. The world outside of their little hideaway seemed so peaceful and light until a call came from a nearby home.

“Carlie! Well’ have dinner soon!”

The girl let go of Gideon and stood up. “That’s my mom,” she said as she wiped her eyes. “I’ve gotta go.”

Gideon stood up and gave her a quirky smile. “Maybe I’ll see you again,” he offered sadly before pointing through one of the structure’s small windows at the building he had come from. “We live there. You can come over if your parents say it’s okay. Mine won’t mind.”

Carlie nodded. “Thanks.” She reached for the pole and sighed. “See you later,” she muttered before sliding down.

The weight of the world seemed to press on Gideon as he watched her disappear beneath him. His eyes lifted to the window of his parents bedroom and his mind rolled with possibilities.

* * *

Rumple’s teeth sought out Belle’s ear and nipped playfully as he rolled to cover her. The feel of her skin against his sent his blood racing and brought his body back to life the instant he settled over her. He needed her, needed to bury himself in her warmth, needed to hear her cry out with pleasure one more time before their solitude was shattered.

“Gideon will be home soon,” Belle whispered in playful protest even as her body spread beneath him, her legs wrapping over his to draw him closer.

Propping himself on one arm, Rumple let his hand wander from her arm over her shoulder and to her breast before it traveled lower, to caress Belle’s moist folds. “What sort of husband would I be if I left my wife in such a state?” He kissed her neck as he spoke, reversing his touch until he was properly settled against her again, hovering so that he denied her that final, electric point of contact. He chuckled as she let out a moan of desire. “I think I have one more of your needs to attend to…”

Belle’s back arched. “Once more,” she relented. “Then I start on dinner.”

Rumple raised his eyebrows as he pressed against her. “Do I get to help?”

He was given only half a giggle in response as he filled her, his eyes closing to capture the pure bliss of being surrounded by warm, delicious heat. Belle let out a throaty gasp as she clung to him, grasping low at his back and pulling him tightly to her own body to guide him to the deepest part of her. Rumple whispered her name as he settled, then moved above her with gentle thrusts. 

“Rumple!” His name was breathy and desperate on Belle’s lips and it encouraged him to gradually build the force of his movements, mirroring his own need for release. His skin was electric, a white light growing inside of him with such intensity that he could almost hear it slam into being.

Then, without warning, a sharp pain came to his ribs. Rumple grunted and collapsed over Belle, curling against the unexpected sensation as another struck, then a third. He cried out as he rolled away, hearing a higher pitched shout over his own, one that sent hurt and humiliation spilling over him.

“Leave her alone!” Gideon screamed, his fists flailing in the air, pounding against Rumple’s back and side. They connected with ribs and flesh in alternating thrusts, desperately trying to beat the larger form into submission. “Stop hurting her! Leave her alone!” The words were sounds of desperation, filled with true and undeniable anguish.

“Gideon!” Belle shifted beside him, but Rumple ignored her movements. Stung by the actions of his son, he tumbled from the bed, and hurried out of the room. He didn’t bother to cover himself, his modesty something minuscule in comparison to Gideon’s pain.

Salty moisture streaming down his cheeks, Rumple dropped to the sofa and cradled his head in his hands. Finally allowing himself a moment for thought, he glanced back to the bedroom, but all he could see was the corner of their disheveled bed. Though he strained to hear the voices of his wife and son, what came were only whispers and sobs. Filled with his own emotions, it was impossible to tell which sound belonged to Belle and which to Gideon, so he gave up the effort and succumbed to the trembling and tears which insisted on consuming him.

* * *

Belle maintained just enough awareness of her situation to remember to pull the sheets to herself as her husband bolted from the room, chased out by the hurtful exclamations of their son. Beyond knowing that Gideon was there with them, the suddenness of everything had put her into a state of utter confusion and complete shock which only long, deep breaths could revive her from. She closed her eyes and followed the flow of air in and out of her lungs once and then a second time before opening them to take in the sight of their distraught child, weeping at the side of her bed.

“Gideon…” Tucking the sheet tightly under her arms, Belle made a waving gesture to invite him to be held. He took her up on the offer, scrambling over and collapsing against her in an exhausted heap. The boy wept as he muttered apologies and random, unintelligible phrases, his body trembling as his emotions expelled from it. She hushed him, running her hands through his hair until he was calm enough that she could adjust their position.

Eventually she pushed herself properly upright to sit against the headboard and drew Gideon up with her, settling him close and resting her chin on the top of his head. “Now,” she said quietly. “Tell me what made you so upset.”

Her son gazed up at her, his face streaked with tears and his eyes moist with what was yet to be shed. “A girl outside… she… she said papas take naps… with mothers so… so they can hurt them.” The words quivered as he pushed them through fresh sobs and Belle’s heart wrenched with pain.

Frantic to ease his fears, her hand flew to his head, smoothing his hair in rapid strokes. “Oh Gideon,” she murmured. “Your father would never hurt me. We take naps together because it makes us happy, because we love each other so much that we don’t want to be apart.”

Gideon shook his head and scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand. “She said her mother makes noise and when she comes out of the room she walks funny and she has bruises…”

Belle allowed the hiss of a shushing sound to escape her, as she tried desperately to keep her own sanity. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but none of them were as important as the truth. “Your father would _never_ hurt me,” she assured Gideon as she cupped his face in her hands to lock his gaze with hers. She wished her words hadn’t sounded quite so much like a lecture, but she needed him to understand their true feelings. “What we were doing… That’s how we made _you_ , how we show love to each other. It makes me very happy when your father takes a nap with me. Do you believe that?”

Gideon tucked his lip into his teeth as he thought about her words, then finally nodded. “I think so.” He didn’t sound quite sure.

“It sounds to me that what this girl described to you is something very different,” Belle said as she snuggled Gideon back down to her side and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe her father is the kind of man who does the wrong thing or-”

“But Papa says he’s a monster sometimes,” Gideon cut in “Or… that he used to be… And Carlie, she said her father was like that. She said he hissed and spat and-”

“Oh, Gideon…” Belle closed her eyes and let her mind tumble over her need to explain Rumple’s past. Their son was certainly old enough to know some of the things that had happened and he would need to know them some day, especially once they began their travels to other realms. He couldn’t be sheltered from the Dark One’s reputation forever. “Your father was meant to be a Savior,” she began. “But that fate was taken from him. So he spends a lot of time fighting himself, trying to decide what is the best thing to do, and because he can’t be the savior it usually goes horribly wrong. His actions hurt people even when he doesn’t want them to. That’s why he calls himself a monster.” 

Gideon blinked up at her, a look of confusion on his face. She thought for a moment about how best to describe everything, then settled on one of Gideon’s favorite outdoor activities. “Close your eyes,” she told him and waited until he had followed the instruction before she continued. “Now, let me try and show you what it is like for your father…”

* * *

“Imagine we are having a picnic…” 

Gideon’s mother spoke, describing a place of absolute tranquility, and almost instantly the room transformed. Birds outside seemed to be singing in the trees above their heads and a gentle breeze brushed Gideon’s cheek. He smiled at the sense of peace that washed over him, his mind easily replacing the bed’s cover for their favorite picnic blanket. He could hear distant chatter and the laughter of other children somewhere far away. “I can see it,” he told her, then realized he hadn’t looked for the basket and turned his imaginary gaze down to scan the ground until he could find it. “I have the basket and everything.”

“Good,” she almost giggled. “Now, you have planned the most wonderful picnic for us, so everything has to be perfect. Do you see us with you? Just the way we always would be?”

“Yeah. You’re sitting against the tree and Papa has his head in your lap.” He giggled as he realized what they were doing. “You’re reading and playing with Papa’s hair.”

“Sounds about right,” the mother in his imagination said, looking up from her book to smile at him. 

Gideon smiled back. “When do we eat?”

This made his mother laugh and he felt a squeeze from his real mother, who was still holding him, but he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to leave the place he was in, couldn’t break the magic that had brought him here. “Unpack your basket,” she told him kindly. “Tell me _everything_ you brought with us, but remember, it’s the _perfect_ picnic. You can have everything you want.”

Being an imaginary basket, the large wicker object held much more than it should have. Gideon unpacked plates and sandwiches, vegetable sticks and dried fruits, each item in its own container. He called out the objects as he set them down, so that his mother would know what was inside, then pulled out glasses and juice. “It’s all unpacked,” he said when the work was done.

“Wonderful,” his mother almost cheered. “Can you hand me the container by the juice, please?”

Gideon reached for it, then heard his mother’s voice tell him the juice had spilled and he blinked down in surprise as the liquid spread across their blanket in exactly the way she described. It covered his mute and unmoving papa and threatened to ruin her beautiful summer dress. “Oh!” He exclaimed as he turned to open the basket. “I have napkins in the basket.”

“But the breeze comes,” she told him gently, in a voice that drifted like the wind. “And when you open the basket they all blow away.” There was a pause to give the image in his mind a chance to catch up with her storytelling and by the time she had spoken again, Gideon could see everything clearly. “The napkins are flying everywhere and bothering everyone else’s picnics. You’d better catch them and apologize, don’t you think?”

Even though he knew she couldn’t see him, Gideon nodded in his vision. Scrambling to his feet he announced, “I’ll get them,” before dashing off.

“Oh, but Gideon, you just stepped on my sandwich and broke the plate,” his mother said sadly. “There must have been a stone under it. Look. I’ve cut my finger.” In his vision, she held up a finger that was red with blood. “It hurts and we only have the napkins to stop the bleeding.”

Gideon stood, torn between the things he should do. The napkins were flying around the park, and he could hear the other people getting angry as his mother reminded him that no one was happy that he had put napkins all in their food. He took a few steps closer to one family and tried to shout an apology, but his mother told him that shouting at them only upset them more. When he promised that he would be right back to help them, she said that they wouldn’t believe him. “My mother’s hurt,” he finally whimpered. “Please wait for me. I _will_ come back to clean this up for you.”

He hastily snatched up a few of the errant napkins and ran back to his mother’s side. “I’m here, Mother,” he told her quickly. “I have the napkins.”

“Thank you, Gideon.” Her warm words turned to concern as she narrated on. “That other family is coming here, angry. They’re telling your father it’s his fault their picnic is ruined because you are his son and you made the mess. They say he should have stopped you.” She hissed with alarm and pulled him closer. “Stay close, they want to fight.”

Gideon’s head swiveled one way and then another. He saw everything as his mother described it, the family angry at his papa and other families starting to come closer because he hadn’t picked up the napkins. He couldn’t move because she was holding him so close, so he muttered a quick apology and broke away from her to try and get between his father and the angry family. “He didn’t do anything,” Gideon insisted. “Let me help you and we will make it right.”

“But it can’t be right,” his mother’s voice reminded him. “They can’t eat. I’m still bleeding, and your father has to protect us now because you didn’t pick up the napkins.”

“It’s not fair!” Gideon shouted out at the whole park, his hands clenching to fists at his sides. “No matter what I do, it’s all wrong!”

Instantly his mother’s hands were on his, tenderly prying his fingers open just enough that she could spread his hands and clasp them in her own. “Open your eyes, Gideon,” she said as the park flashed away to turn into her bedroom. She watched his face and squeezed his hands again, so tightly that he worried they might pop. “Every day for your father is just like that picnic because the string that ties him to being a savior is broken. He _wants_ to do the right thing, but the wind always changes things.”

Gideon lifted his face to gaze sadly at his mother, his lips quivering. “But mother… that’s… it’s horrible!” His eyes filled with tears again and he trembled as he fought back more sobs. He looked through the doorway to the living room, where is father sat, naked, on the sofa. His body was shaking and he held his head so tightly in his hands that Gideon thought he must be worried it would fall off. 

He gave his mother no warning, simply pushed away and jumped from the bed, rushing to the other room and shouting for his papa as if the distance separating them could be measured in miles rather than mere steps. Gideon tumbled to the floor, sliding to his father’s side and scrambling to cling to him. “Oh, Papa,” he cried. “Papa. I’m sorry, Papa.” He shut his eyes tightly against what he had done and felt the moisture of his guilt drain from him, washing over the man he had hurt so badly.

Realizing he would only make things worse, Gideon tried to pull away, but his father refused to let him go. “It’s okay, son,” he gasped out in a raspy voice. “It’ll all be okay.”


End file.
